'Of course not; Mrs. Chadwick, who is always managing for somebody else, has taken it into her head that it would be a great thing if she could catch that tremendous idiot, Spiridion Pratt, and make up a match between him and her sister; the girl is much too good for that, don't you think?' 'It is impossible for me to say,' replied Uffington, 'having only seen Mr. Pratt once; but he does not seem to me to be such a goose as you rate him. He affects to be romantic, and is unquestionably conceited, but I don't see much else the matter with him, and he is a gentleman, which, after all, goes a very long way.' 'What a dear large-hearted old boy it is!' said Eardley, clapping his friend affectionately on the shoulder. 'But what do you say, then, to Mr. Chadwick? I am afraid he won't come up to your standard.' 'I don't see why not,' replied Uffington. 'Do you imagine that I should not consider Mr. Chadwick a gentleman, because his manner is rather brusque, and he uses odd phrases? I declare to you he seems to me as perfect a specimen of a real gentleman as I have seen for many a long day. There are many men, my dear Frank, who drop their _h_'s and pick up fish-sauce with their knives, who are more truly _preux chevaliers_ than the purest bred among us.' 'Very likely,' said Eardley, 'but a dropped _h_ grates on the ear, and knife-swallowing, except at a circus, is not pleasant to look at. Did you notice--but of course you did--how Miss Irvine blazed out in defence of her friend, Lady Forestfield?' 'I noticed it with more than astonishment,' said Uffington. 'But from what little I saw of her I should judge her to be a young lady who would speak out boldly in favour of any one whom she imagined to be oppressed, whether a friend of hers or not.' 'Perhaps so,' said Eardley; 'but I know she was particularly fond of Lady Forestfield.' 'The intimacy has been dropped since the smash, I presume,' said Uffington. 'Mrs. Chadwick seems far too strict a person to allow it to continue.' 'Decidedly, if she knew it,' said Eardley; 'but I have some idea that the worthy woman is slightly hoodwinked in the matter. Mrs. Ingram told me that Lady Forestfield is lodging in Podbury-street--poor child, fancy Podbury-street after the lovely luxury of Seamore-place!--and the other morning I saw Miss Irvine walking down that very street. I know it was she, though I did not recollect her at first, and I was thinking what a pretty model she would make for a certain class of subject, when suddenly it came upon me that she was the daughter of that raffish old buck Irvine, who used to hang about Clipstone-street in former days.' 'So Lady Forestfield is lodging in Podbury-street, is she?' said Uffington musingly. 'Do you know the number?' 'Sixty-eight, I think,' said Eardley, looking at him in surprise; 'but what on earth does it matter to you?' 'Nothing,' said Uffington with a start, 'not the least in the world; I was only wondering--'